When they reached Icemere's entrance, what seemed like the entire household had gathered. Gasps and murmured prayers rose from the assembled servants as Dominic strode through the doors with June in his arms, her face pale against the dark wool of his coat.
Louisa rushed forward from the crowd, her pale eyes wide with concern.
"June! Oh my dear girl!" She reached out to touch June's hand, then turned to the hovering servants. "Hot water, blankets—and where is Dr. Forrest? Has he arrived yet?"
"On his way, Your Grace," Mr. Winters replied from somewhere in the crowd.
"Prepare our chambers," Dominic ordered, already moving toward the grand staircase. "And bring up broth and tea."
June pressed her face against his neck, overwhelmed by the concern surrounding her. "I can walk now, I think," she whispered, though she made no real effort to leave his arms.
"Not a chance," Dominic replied, his grip tightening slightly. "I'm not letting you go."
The words, simple as they were, sent warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with pain.
Dominic carried her all the way to their chambers, where a fire already roared in the hearth. With exquisite gentleness, he settled her on a chaise that had been pulled close to the warmth. June bit back a moan as her ribs protested even this careful movement.
"Where does it hurt?" Dominic asked, kneeling beside her, his face tight with concern.
Before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. The physician had arrived, a balding man with kind eyes. Dominic moved aside reluctantly, hovering nearby as Dr. Forrest examined her.
"Breathe in, Your Grace," the physician instructed, pressing careful fingers against her ribs. "And out. Good."
June winced as he found the tender spot.
"Bruised ribs, I believe," Dr. Forrest announced finally. "Painful, but not broken. A lucky escape, all things considered." He checked her limbs with practiced movements. "No other injuries?"
"My ankle twisted a bit during the fall, but it doesn't hurt now," June replied.
The physician manipulated her ankle gently, nodding with satisfaction. "No sprain there. You've been fortunate, YourGrace." He straightened, addressing both of them now. "Rest is what she needs most. No exertion for at least a week."
After the physician departed with promises to return the following day, Dominic transformed into the most attentive of nurses. He adjusted pillows behind her back, offered broth from a silver spoon he held to her lips, and tucked blankets around her with such tender care that tears sprang to June's eyes.
"You needn't fuss so," she said softly, though the warmth in her chest grew with each gentle touch.
"I'll fuss as much as I please," Dominic replied, his attempt at a light tone undermined by the lingering fear in his eyes. He smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers trailing against her skin. "When I couldn't find you..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. June could see it in his face—the stark terror he'd experienced, so at odds with his usual composed demeanor.
"Dominic," Louisa's voice came from the doorway, gentle but firm. "She needs sleep more than your hovering."
The dowager duchess approached, laying a hand on her son's shoulder. June met her mother-in-law's eyes over Dominic's head and offered a grateful smile. Practical kindness, exactly what was needed.
"I'm not hovering," Dominic protested, even as he straightened yet another blanket across June's lap. "I'm ensuring her comfort."
"And doing an admirable job," Louisa said, squeezing his shoulder. "But now she requires rest, and you, my son, look as though you might collapse yourself."
June reached for Dominic's hand, threading her fingers through his. "She's right. I'm perfectly comfortable now, thanks to you."
His eyes met hers, blue and intense in the firelight. Something passed between them—unspoken but profound—before he nodded and raised her hand to his lips.
"As you wish," he murmured against her skin. "But I'll be nearby if you need anything at all."
Dominic stood by the hearth, one shoulder propped against the mantel, his eyes never leaving June's sleeping form. She lay curled on the chaise where he'd placed her hours ago, still wrapped in his coat despite the blankets he'd piled around her. The firelight painted her face in amber and gold, peaceful now though hours earlier it had been contorted with pain and fear.
His chest tightened at the memory; her voice, weak with dust and terror, calling his name from the depths of the ruins. He could still feel the cold stone beneath his palms as he'd clawedhis way through debris to reach her, still taste the acrid fear that had coated his throat with each desperate shout of her name.
His hands trembled at his sides, an after-effect of terror he couldn't quite master. He curled them into fists, as if he could physically contain the emotion threatening to overwhelm him.
